


all that you are (is all that i'll ever need)

by afterplaidshirtdays



Category: Dawson's Creek
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-17
Updated: 2018-08-17
Packaged: 2019-06-28 20:20:49
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,525
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15714393
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/afterplaidshirtdays/pseuds/afterplaidshirtdays
Summary: Post 3x17, an alternate take on Joey's reaction and what could have happened.She closes her eyes again, surprising herself by not pushing him away. Maybe because he’s warm and his breath tastes like coffee and he picked her up in the city without hesitation.





	all that you are (is all that i'll ever need)

**Author's Note:**

> Title comes from "Tenerife Sea" by Ed Sheeran.

It lasts about seven seconds. He counts them, each feeling long and languid and as thrilling as it is scary. As right as a kiss with Joey Potter could be. The seconds go by, and he’s frozen in time, frozen in the moment, holding her softly in his hands, his arms. Her hands grasp onto his elbows from the shock of it, and he swears he feels her lips moving against his, if only for a few of those seven seconds.

Eyes closed when they finally part, her lips are pink and the slightest bit swollen.

“What, um-” she says softly, eyes opening and closing again, unaware of her hands still on his sides but very, very aware of his breath washing over her, of their breaths joining together. “What was that for?”

Pacey lets out a small grin, the pad of his thumb running over her cheek, breathing. “I don’t know.”

She closes her eyes again, surprising herself by not pushing him away. Maybe because he’s warm and his breath tastes like coffee and he picked her up in the city without hesitation.

He knows her, though, so he knows the verbiage is soon to come. What he doesn’t expect is the softness in her voice, the way her eyes shyly avert his gaze, or her mitten-covered hands remaining tucked in the bend of his arms.

“Was it-” Joey gets out softly, gaze lifting to his. “To shut me up?”

His lips part to answer _yes, of course, obviously Potter_.

But then she speaks again, her eyes giving her away. “Or was it- was it,” she licks her lips, voice becoming a whisper. “Was it?”

More than that?

Letting out a breath, Pacey’s fingers freeze on the edges of her delicate features. The thumb on her cheek stills, his heart races, and as of late she pulls the truth out of him.

“B-both,” he lets out, his palms still on either side of her face.

Joey nods small, licking her lips as her eyes become glassy.

“I mean,” he clears his throat, going for levity, “Maybe if you ever shut your mouth I wouldn’t have needed to.”

She smirks, releasing a breath, looking up at him and his boyish charm. “Yeah?”

“Yeah,” Pacey says, tucking a strand of hair behind her ear.

As if remembering her stance, the hands she’s been keeping on his arms still and her eyes find his. There’s fear in her eyes, and guilt, and just about every emotion he’s been lugging around in the depths of his mind for months now.

“Can you... do it again?”

He gives her a look, his eyes narrowing slightly. She can’t have meant that.

Joey presses her lips together matter-of-factly. “I just need to check something.”

For the third time in his life, he kisses her, not counting the time in second grade when he did it because Dawson dared him to and Joey called him a wimp when he hesitated. That one was sloppy and gross, but he always remembered that she smelled like strawberries and her mother’s perfume.

The first, officially anyway, was hormone-induced and came from his utter disbelief that the girl he’d grown up with and practically loathed had appealed to him in strange and other-worldly ways. Of course, she’d pushed him away. But it didn’t mean more than the bruising of his ego.

The second kiss was exciting, all pent up frustration and agony over having her moon over Dawson for a brief stint, then AJ, and wondering just when she’d realize he was an option too. He was taking her by surprise, not entirely different than the first if he thinks about it. But it was soft and gentle while also being the kind of exhilarating he only saw in the movies Dawson made them watch growing up.

This one is different. This time she’s waiting for it, challenging him with her gaze. The other times were on impulse, generally with the idea that she’d probably push him away but hoping she wouldn’t. His palms grow sweaty the more he thinks about it, the more she watches him.

When he touches his mouth to hers again, it feels like taking a breath. He likens it to finally coming up for air. There’s a release of something between them, maybe the months leading to this, maybe just a breath of ecstasy, but it’s palpable. Pacey runs his thumb over her cheek again, _god her skin is so soft_ , and quelches the desire to do more than trace his tongue lightly over her chapped but tempting lips.

Joey can’t help but smile into it. His hands hold her face so gently, soft but firm. Her hands bring him closer, closer than she ever thought she’d want him, _this is Pacey Witter!_ , but close nonetheless. She’s never been kissed like this, so breathlessly, so earnestly. If she were a writer, she’d wax poetic over his ability to take her breath away.

She’d once dreamt of this, late one night after he’d beaten up Matt Caufield and Pacey’s eyes had been as blue-green as the purest painting of the sea. She’d woken up in a cold sweat and refused to analyze it, but growing up side-by-side with Dawson Leery made her nothing if not an expert analyzer of the mundane.

Pacey pulls away from her before she wants him to, catching his breath, eyeing her closely. She brings a finger to her bottom lip, running over it slowly, eyes meeting his hesitantly.

His hands retreat from her, and he realizes just how tightly wound they were.

“I should get home,” Joey says softly, touching her lip, her other hand moving off of his arm.

He gives her one of his patented smirks. “Sure, Potter.”

Her cheeks flush crimson despite the cold weather surrounding them and suddenly she remembers how cold it is, how she could see his breath in the frigid air. It makes her want his hands on her again, on her face, on her arms, on her wherever he can reach.

It’s more disarming that it isn’t the first time she’s thought it, stepping away gently, deciding to file away those feelings for another time.

They file into the Witter Wagoneer once again in silence, and Joey lets out a smirk when his eyes keep averting hers. A nervous Pacey Witter isn’t one she’s accustomed to, but considering what just unfolded, it does put puzzle pieces into place. His insistence on her attending opening night of the play, the way he pushed her buttons a little too much on Valentine’s Day, the sheer volume of his time loitering at the B&B.

“God Potter,” he says, interrupting her thoughts and changing the radio station. “Green Day, really?”

“I didn’t choose the station,” she says defensively.

“Sure you did, all those months ago.”

“I meant today, smartass.”

“Aww, you think I’m smart.”

“Only you would take that as a compliment,” Joey replies, turning one of the vents toward her. “Three facing you, huh Pace?”

“I get chilly on frigid mornings. Forgive me.”

She tries not to smile at the sheer ridiculous nature of their relationship. “Never.”

Her cheeks flush when she feels his gaze on her again.

Pacey lets out a chuckle. “And here I thought you’d appreciate the music selection for your downtrodden drive home.”

“I did before you changed it.”

He smiles, returning his gaze to the road ahead. Ever so often, he looks over to find her staring out the window, her breath creating a fog on the glass.

By the time he pulls up to the B&B, she’s avoiding his gaze. She pulls her overnight bag from the backseat, shivering a bit when the wind picks up.

Joey turns to him as they approach her front door. “Eventually, we’re going to have to discuss-”

“You know,” he interrupts. “What you say is true. But I hear some waking customers and you’ve had a long night, so maybe we can table it for later.”

She narrows her eyes. “Pace, if you want me to forget about it-”

“Jo,” he says softly, reaching out his hand to touch her but giving up halfway. “I don’t. Trust me, I don’t.”

Licking her lips, she nods. She hears Alexander crying through the door. “Tomorrow?”

Pacey moves closer to her, bridging the distance between them, finding the courage to touch her scarf, twirling it between his fingers.

She doesn’t know how it happens, but all of a sudden her lips are on his again, meeting him in the middle, and she never realized just how fun kissing someone could be. Or how much she’s wanted to do that. He lets out a little groan against her, his hands properly on her waist, and she laughs against his mouth, pushing him away lightheartedly.

“Tomorrow,” she says, flushed, picking up her bag and going inside.

The grin on his face is tough to move, his legs feeling like jelly as he makes his way back to the Wagoneer. Pacey hadn't noticed earlier but she'd switched the radio back to her preferred alternative station.

He can't find it in him to change it.


End file.
